


Early Years

by athena_crikey



Series: Superglue [2]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: A/B/O, AU, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sequel, family life, okay but really your teeth might fall out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:14:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25367425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/pseuds/athena_crikey
Summary: A few short scenes in the life of an unplanned but much-loved pup.
Relationships: Gon Freecs/Hisoka
Series: Superglue [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1836991
Comments: 20
Kudos: 278





	Early Years

**Author's Note:**

> People were asking for family fluff, and apparently I am just a huge sap?

Daddy is all warmth and safety and comfort. He scoops Sotto up when he falls and kisses his knees, raises him high on his shoulders and runs down steep hills with him, tucks him in at night and caresses his cheeks. Sotto smiles often for Daddy, laughing at his games and begging him for attention.

Father is all indifference on the outside and pride on the inside. He rarely helps Sotto when he pleads for rides or food or toys. Instead he teaches Sotto how to open the refrigerator – _he could get stuck in there, you know!_ exclaims Daddy – and how to open the latch to his toybox – _who’s going to clean up the mess?_ asks Daddy – and how to climb up onto adults like a monkey, making use of knees and hips and elbows – _Hisoka you’re over six feet tall, what if he falls?_ wails Daddy. And although his caresses are few and his kisses rarer still, Sotto loves it when he scrambles up on top of Father and receives a gold-eyed look of tolerant appreciation. 

It’s Daddy who takes him out to play at the playground, who takes him swimming and singing and dancing, who teaches him hide-and-seek and toss-the-ring. He brings Sotto friends and family, introduces him to Uncle Killua and Aunt Bisky, who are nice and give him presents and pats. And when he gets tired Daddy carries him home, soft and warm and smelling like green things growing. 

It’s Father who teaches him how to splash in puddles and throw stones into water, who shows him how to roll and tumble and climb up on top of rocks and fallen logs. He tells Sotto stories – long, intricate stories full of good guys who turn out bad and bad guys who turn out good, until Sotto gets all mixed up and knows only that he doesn’t want the stories to end. When he asks Father where they come from, he says out of his own head. And when the stories are over for the day and Sotto is sleepy, his head nodding, Father leans in close and presses their cheeks together, his smell like sweets and coins.

  
***

For his fourth birthday they go to the circus. It’s huge, with striped tents smelling of candy apples and caramel corn and pens for animals he’s only ever seen at Uncle Kite’s zoo and all sorts of interesting people dressed in bright colours.

Daddy holds his hand the whole time, pulling him through the crowd, while Father treads along behind. He doesn’t make any noise but Sotto knows he’s there; he can feel his eyes following watchfully. They play games at the stands – throwing balls at bottles and rings at pegs and shooting guns at bull’s eyes. Daddy wins him a stuffed horse at the bottle toss, his ball going right through the wooden board behind the shelf – he apologizes sheepishly to the man at the booth. Father wins him a wooden sword at the shooting game; it’s big and beautiful with a silver blade and a blue handle. Daddy gives him a doubtful look but Father hands it to him anyway and he runs around slashing and hacking at enemies, shouting like the heroes on TV do. 

“Really, he could hurt someone with that,” says Daddy from behind him. 

“One can only hope,” replies Father. His voice is sugary, the way it is when he says things he know will annoy Daddy. 

“Hisoka, we’re not raising a warlord.”

“No, merely our son. Do you not imagine he will grow into someone stronger than both of us?”

“He’ll grow up to be whoever he wants to. That doesn’t have to be someone who’s first choice is a weapon.”

“Certainly not. He will be adept at hand-to-hand combat as well.”

“ _Hisoka_ ,” groans Daddy. Sotto circles back, swinging his sword, until he reaches his parents and slashes at Daddy’s thigh. Without even looking, Daddy catches the blade between his fingers. Then he pulls it slightly to the side and squats down until he’s eye level with Sotto. “Being strong means knowing when to put down your weapon,” he says. 

Sotto blinks up at him. Daddy smiles and holds out the stuffed horse, which he takes; in return Daddy lifts the sword and tucks it under his arm, standing up out of Sotto’s reach. 

“Now. How about some popcorn?”

  
***

Both Daddy and Father come to see him off for his first day of school. Together they take the elevator down through the Arena and then walk out into the bright sunny day. The school is nearby, and as they go Sotto notices other kids with their parents coming too.

Daddy dressed him in his best corduroy overalls, bright blue – his favourite colour. Daddy says they bring out his eyes, whatever that means. Sotto likes Daddy’s eyes; they’re gentle and kind and happy. Father’s are hard, cold, except sometimes when Sotto climbs up onto him and he tells his stories. Then they’re distant but pleased. 

They reach the school soon, and Sotto realises abruptly that while he’s going in Daddy and Father aren’t. They stop at the gate, Daddy with his arm around Father, his eyes watery. Sotto looks up at them, suddenly scared, suddenly lonely – so lonely. He doesn’t want to go, doesn’t want to leave them. What if they forget him here and never come to get him? What if he never comes home? What if he never sees them again?

Big, wet tears start to run down his cheeks. Daddy dips to pull him into a hug; he smells soft and comforting, like safety and security. “You’ll do great,” he says. “You’re going to have a lot of fun and make new friends. Friends are the best thing there is, Sotto, and you’ll have a lot of them. And I’ll see you again before you know it.” He pulls back and pinches Sotto’s cheek gently, smiling. 

“Don’t wanna go,” says Sotto, fists balled, staring back. 

Daddy caresses his hair, his hand soft. “You’ll enjoy it. I promise.”

He shakes his head back and forth, biting his lip. He looks up; Father is standing with his weight to one side, arms crossed. He gazes down, face expressionless. “A child’s role is to do as his parents instruct, or force them to cede to his will. You are not strong enough to force us.”

Sotto frowns. 

Daddy puts his hands on Sotto’s shoulders, holding him steady. “Your father and I love you, Sotto. We know you can do this.”

Fretfully he looks over his shoulder. Other children are streaming through the gates, older ones, without a care.

“Will you give in in front of your elders?” asks Father tonelessly. 

Sotto bites his lip and turns back. Shakes his head and looks up. “I’ll go,” he says. 

“Good boy,” purrs Father, smiling. 

Daddy rises and steps back. “You’ll do great,” he says. “Now go on and make friends.”

Sotto turns and heads into the playground, going toward the teacher calling for kindergarteners. When he looks back, Father and Daddy are watching him, Daddy’s head on Father’s shoulder. 

A little girl with pink hair and freckles bumps into him, then pulls back as he turns around. “Sorry!”

“That’s okay. Who are you?”

“Plum! It’s my first day.”

“I’m Sotto. It’s my first day too.” And then, like Daddy taught him: “Let’s be friends.”

  
***

When he’s six, his hamster dies. Sotto stares down at the cold, hard body, tears trailing down his cheeks. He doesn’t know what’s happened, but he knows something is very wrong.

Father comes into the room and stops, glancing down at him, then at the open cage. 

“What’s wrong with Snuffles?” Sotto asks, picking up the hamster and holding him out. 

“He’s dead,” replies Father dispassionately. 

Dead. People in Father’s stories die, people in movies and on TV die. But not in real life. “But… when will he come back?”

“He won’t. Death is forever,” replies Father, taking Snuffles from him and walking into the other room. He puts him in a bag, ties it shut, and dumps it into the trash. 

“No!” Sotto pushes past him and pulls him out, grabs the bag and tries to run away with it. Father grabs the back of his shirt and holds him as he struggles, until finally he stops. 

“The dead do not come back to life, Sotto,” says Father calmly. “You must learn to accept it.”

Sotto’s crying now, his throat choked up, his face hot and wet. “But I want Snuffles! Snuffles!” He holds the bag close, sobbing. 

Father sighs and reaches around, plucking the bag from him and standing. He’s tall, much taller than Sotto, and although Sotto jumps and scrambles at him, Father won’t let him up. “There’s no use in playing with corpses. What’s gone is gone.”

Sotto’s hollering and pounding on Father’s legs when Daddy comes in, arms laden with shopping. He puts the bags down at once and runs over. “Hisoka – what is it?”

“The hamster is dead,” replies Father flatly. 

“Oh. Oh Sotto, I’m sorry.” Daddy drops to his knees and pulls him into a hug. Sotto sobs into his shoulder until the fabric of his shirt is wet and snotty, until he feels sick and exhausted. “You have to think that he was really happy to be with you. He had such a happy life.”

“I want him back,” chokes out Sotto.

“I know. But some things are forever. That’s what makes life precious.” He nuzzles his face against Sotto’s, all calm and comfort. 

Slowly the tears dry up. Sotto wipes his eyes and steps away. Looks up to Father. “He really won’t come back?”

“No. He won’t. Death is a precious gift, Sotto. It comes to everyone, but not everyone is deserving of it. Be thoughtful if ever you dole it out.”

“ _Hisoka_ ,” snaps Daddy, quietly. Father doesn’t blink. 

“Now enough of this. Go and get cleaned up.”

He shuffles away, aware of quiet voices behind him but not concentrating on the words.

  
***

That night after he’s tucked into bed he lies awake, thinking of Snuffle’s cold hard body and Father’s words. Finally he creeps out of bed and opens the door. The lights are on in the apartment; Father is reading the paper on the sofa. Daddy’s nowhere to be seen; probably having his bath. Sotto emerges from his room and crosses the long open floor to the sofa. Although he doesn’t make a sound, Father looks up overtop of his newspaper, golden eyes watching him.

He reaches the sofa and climbs up next to Father, who continues reading the newspaper. 

“Well?” says Father eventually, without looking down.

“Will you die?” he asks. “Like Snuffles?” 

“Mmm. Eventually, when it is my time. Yes.”

“All cold and hard?”

“Yes.”

“And… and Daddy too?” he’s starting to tear up, his throat tight.

“Yes, Gon as well.”

Sotto turns and buries his face in Father’s side. He smells of sternness and protection, his scents hard but somehow welcome. “Don’t want that,” he says into Father’s shirt.

“In all likelihood it will not be for a long time,” says Father. “You are blessed with strong parents, pup. Danger and adversity to not worry us.”

“Don’t want Daddy and Father to die,” sniffles Sotto. 

Father’s scent softens slightly, growing sweeter. The newspaper crinkles and then a strong hand is resting on his head. “I will never let Gon die before me,” he rumbles. “You can trust the word of the Grim Reaper.”

Sotto looks up. Father is watching him, golden eyes sharp, smile dangerous. Sotto digs his fingers into Father’s shirt, holding onto him tightly. “I won’t let you go,” he says stoutly. Father’s smile widens.

“Hmm. You will have to grow up strong, then.”

“I will!”

“Strong enough to defeat me?”

“I will!”

“We shall see.” He puts down his paper and stands, stretching. “Come. Back to bed with you. Strength takes sleep.”

Sotto nods, climbing down. To Father’s surprise he latches onto his hand and walks with him back to his room. He doesn’t let go even after he’s climbed into bed, Father’s hand held tightly between his fingers. He nestles down into his bed and closes his eyes. 

Even as he falls asleep he can sense Father’s presence beside him. Watching over him.

  
***

Sometimes, Daddy gets strange. He says he’s sick, needs to spend time alone in his room, his skin flushed and his eyes glassy. Father keeps him company, coming out occasionally to make food or tell a short story to Sotto, his scent strange. Sometimes when Daddy gets strange Sotto goes to stay with Uncle Zushi, but Uncle Zushi is busy with his martial arts school a lot.

Sometimes, like today, Daddy just hides himself away while Sotto waits, alone and curious, for him to feel better. Sotto’s playing with his toys in his room when he hears a heavy thump. He gets up and sneaks out into the main room, listening. He’s not supposed to be here, is supposed to stay in his room when Daddy’s not well. But he’s worried, worried about Daddy. For a moment everything’s quiet, and he’s about to go back when he hears a strangled moaning. It’s a scary, unnatural sound, like pain, like need. He tiptoes across the apartment to Daddy and Father’s room, listening at the door. He can hear snarling and groaning, can hear a heavy thumping and Daddy begging – please, please, please. Like he’s hurt. 

Sotto throws open the door and daylight streams in, showing figures intertwined on the bed, Father and Daddy red and sweaty. Father is pinning Daddy to the bed, his back arched and his muscles cording where they show above the blankets. He spins around at the sound of the door opening.

“ _Out_ ,” he growls, furious. 

Daddy is panting, shaking. He turns as if his body is heavy, and Sotto sees that his eyes are wrong, are unfocused and staring. They can’t see him.

Sotto falls backwards and something strikes the door, slamming it shut. Whimpering he scrambles across the apartment and into his room where he curls up in his bed, trembling.

  
***

A long time later Daddy comes out looking tired, eyes still not really right but better. He hugs Sotto and tells him he’s sorry, tells him he’ll understand one day.

“It’s the way I am,” he says. “Sometimes, I just need Hisoka.”

“He was hurting you,” chokes out Sotto, softly.

Daddy squeezes him tighter. “Oh no, sweetheart. No, he wasn’t. He was helping me. He needs to help me, just as much as I need him.”

Sotto doesn’t have any words to express what he feels – he’s all twisted up inside, confused and scared and unhappy. He can’t forget Daddy’s eyes, his dull, sightless eyes, staring out at him. He shivers and Daddy pulls him in closer, nuzzling him. 

Slowly the scary memories fade, eclipsed by Daddy’s calming scent of flowers and oranges. Daddy licks and cuddles away his tears, rocking him in his arms like he did when he was little and afraid of the dark. 

“Always remember, Sotto,” he says softly, whispering his words into Sotto’s ear. “Your father will protect me, no matter what. And he and I love you – more than anything. You are so precious to us.”

Sotto presses his face against Daddy’s, drinks in his scent, his warmth. 

“Daddy,” he whispers. He never wants to let go.

  
***

Later, Daddy carries him out into the living room. Father is making dinner, something salty and savoury. He glances over as they come in, busy stirring vegetables on top of the stove.

“Everything’s alright now,” he says, settling Sotto on the kitchen island and standing next to him, Sotto still holding onto his shirt. “We’re all okay, aren’t we Hisoka?”

“Mm.” He turns, putting down his spoon and crossing to the island in one stride. He leans down in front of Sotto, his gold eyes shining, and places his hands on the edge of the counter on either side of Sotto’s dangling legs. “Well? Are we?” he asks. 

“Daddy says you protect him,” says Sotto solemnly, staring back into those glimmering eyes. 

“I do. He is mine.”

“Promise? Cross your heart and hope to die?”

Father smiles slowly, lips curling. “Stick a thousand needles in my eye,” he replies. 

“Seal it with a kiss,” says Sotto, and leans forward to peck Father on the cheek. For a brief moment Father leans forward, resting his forehead against Sotto’s. 

“You are mine as well, whelp. No harm will come to you while I live and breathe.”

Sotto kicks his feet and smiles, Daddy ruffling his hair. Then Father is stepping away and Daddy’s lifting him down to go wash up before dinner. Father leans out and catches Daddy as he turns to go, drawing him into a deep kiss.

“Ew, gross,” says Sotto, making a face. 

Secretly, though, he’s happy. His parents love each other, fit together in a way he can’t describe. 

He can’t explain it, but he loves it all the same. 

END


End file.
